Give 'Em Hell, Kid.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything - The money, the story, the characters. Not me. And MCR own the name "Give 'em Hell, Kid"

A/N: This was first written as a project for school, except from my point of you, pretending my sister had died. Then I realised that if I twisted it a bit it could be like Petunia and Lily, so I hope you like the result!

And thanks to my beta reader, phoebe, reading even when it was written about you.

I sat in the waiting room, the white walls blinding me. A tear dropped from my nose onto my clasped, shaking hands.

Waiting...waiting

A man came in, being pushed in a wheelchair. He cried and screamed, pulling at the straps that bound him there. An old man walked beside him. His scarred face filled with an ancient, intense sadness.

I wondered if mine mirrored his.

I let my eyes slide down his body, until they rested at his feet. I couldn't bear to look at him anymore. To wonder if one day that would be me.

My eyes mercifully shut.

An age later, when my hands ached from holding up my head, and my eyes were red pools. My fingernails broken and cracked from trying to rip the emotion out of them, a nurse came in.

I could tell.

Just from the sad look of pity on her face, the way she held out her soft hand to help me up. To see the dead body of the sister that had meant so much to me, got me through my life, that had helped me truly live.

White corridors; my footsteps echoed around them.

How can they live when I cant?

Without a moments hesitation, I pushed open the door.

There she lay.

Cold, hard, she had only just left us. Maybe some of her still remained in that empty, lifeless shell. The echo of the girl she used to be.

Emotion rushed up, welled inside me. The emotion I'd been so desperate to repress.

With a cry I ran forward. Reaching out to her, I fell forward onto my knees. I pulled her off the bed, into my lap.

I clutched at her. If she loved me she would come back. Her eyes would flutter open and she would grasp my hand. We would walk out of the hospital, together. And if she was ever hurt again she would take me with her.

The nurse came in, pulling her out of my grasp, and my heart was taken from me, dripping out like drops of crimson blood.

My Mother came, my step-dad with her.

Unspoken words flew between us.

She would be missed.

We had to wait, paperwork was to be done and arrangements made.

We sat in a cold, white room.

The silence was to strong.

I felt as though the world was buzzing around my ears, and I wanted it to stop. Getting up, I fled, tears streaming down my face.

A week later, I had done nothing. Just sat in my room, pulling apart the roses we had once picked.

The will came: She wanted everything burned.

Except her coat.

Her beautiful, black coat was to go to me.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

She still cared.

She'd made the coat herself, embroided it, it was the one thing she could never bear to part with.

From that moment on, I wore it everyday.

I felt as though I could live as long as I had a small part of me with her, guiding me through times to come.

That night as I lay in bed, a tear rolled down my cheek.

Tomorrow I was going to school. The place I had once needed her most, to get me through the day, to make sure when I needed to cry, there was a shoulder near by, and someone to whisper words of comfort to.

We used to plan our revenge on the miserable people who had once made our lives hell.

I remembered her last words to me, standing on the platform 9 3/4. Me cold and indifferent, broken hearted she was leaving me home by myself.

In a last attempt to make me look, make me smile, she had repeated what she had once said to me – the last day we had still been friends.

'Give 'em hell, kid.' She had said,

and then the train came, taking her from my sight, and the light from my heart.

A/N: If you liked this, its sort of like a sequel to another one of my fanfics: Letters, so you can read that. And review, please!